


Maybe We're All Just Idiots

by chocochurros



Category: Original Work
Genre: Ant Martin, Basically just life, Dark Thoughts, Drama, Erin Smith - Freeform, Everett Onetto, Existentialism, Fenton Jones, Friendship, Gifted but troubled, Gifted children, I'm going to publish this some day as a book, Identity, Insecurity, Inspired by BMC, Internal Monologues, Johnny Rimes, Lowkey Jekyll and Hyde vibes, Makkie Hozen, Middle School, Multi, Okada - Freeform, Original Characters - Freeform, Passion, Poetry, Politics, Popular bitches, Problems with authority, Profanity, Ryan Vic, Sexuality, Slice of Life, Someone please hug Fenton, Swearing, Vanessa Whitaker - Freeform, Will Vic, and Existential crises, but only reusing the squip concept, unhealthy sleep habits
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2017-09-27
Updated: 2017-09-28
Packaged: 2019-01-06 09:09:01
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 2
Words: 4,443
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12208161
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/chocochurros/pseuds/chocochurros
Summary: Vanessa Whitaker is a gifted child, entering her last year at Derkson Middle School's Humanities magnet program. She thinks she's overcome the dark thoughts, but - well, it's up to her peers at this point. Eighth grade really isn't the best year to start trying to fit in.Unless you have a small, cerulean pill created by a tortured scientist across the sea. That's when things get interesting.//Trust me; I have a plan, but it won't make sense until this thing is done.





	1. Prologue: Saturnine

Fenton Jones was undeniably late. He knew that for a fact. He also knew that being late was Punishable in horrible ways he refused to imagine, and that that was the last thing he wanted this close to the release - yet something about the warm night air, tugging on the ends of his rumpled white lab coat, implored him to linger.

 

He’d been rushing nonstop for what must have been months now. It had been so long since he last took a moment to just look at the stars, let the romantic mystery envelop him, get lost in his own thoughts while doing something other than what now seemed like slave labor - 

 

He was interrupted by a cruel  _ zap! _ , one that made his blood tingle with electricity, not five seconds after his pace began to slow. Fenton shook his head, berating himself alongside the metallic voice inside his head. He’d gotten used to the programmed responses by now, enough so that he already knew exactly what it would say to him every time. Every. Single. Time. It was driving him insane.

 

Well. He’d designed it, after all.

 

He picked up his pace, careful not to jostle any of the delicate glass trays precariously balanced atop each other in his arms. The load was cumbersome and awkward; he wished he’d thought to grab one of the metal boxes from his lab. 

 

_ No matter. _ He was moments away from entering the Chamber. All he had to do was enter the passcode, and he’d be inside - 

But did he really want to?

 

_ Yes, yes you do, human, you want to enter. It is directly advantageous to you to carry through with your assignment, and besides, who knows what may befall you if you fail to deliver? _

I know, S.Q., but - Still, I hesitate.

_ Fool! He is waiting for you. You know better than to keep him waiting. _

Yes, of course. Sorry.

_ Good to know you’re finally learning some manners. _

I designed you.

_ So? _

 

Fenton took a deep breath and entered the passcode he so vehemently despised, hating himself for doing so. It wasn’t a problem with remembering the passcode, thanks to his Squip, but - 

_ But what? Spit it out, Fenton. Weak. _

I hate that it’s so familiar.

_ That makes no sense. _

I hate that I have to come here that often.

_ You’re almost never summoned here. You’re only a lowly designer, you have no business in his presence most of the time. _

So?

 

The Representatives were waiting for him inside, every single one of them imposing and businesslike. Professional. Calculating. Heartless.

 

Like you.

_ You designed me. _

So?

 

Okada sat at the head of the table, fingers steepled and face, as usual, hidden in shadow. All that could be seen was the cold glint of metal and teeth in the dim, artificial light. Sharklike and grinning.

 

Fenton gulped. He wanted to be out of that room more than anything in the world, but -  _ zap! _ \- he didn’t have that power. Instead, he shakily lowered himself into his cushioned seat, propelled by the stares of his superiors. He felt very, very small and very, very out of place as he slowly set his precious tower of glass trays onto the mahogany table, spoiling the surface’s symmetry. Every other figure there sat stiff and upright, in sharp, clean-pressed, identical business suits, while Fenton slouched, trying to be as small as possible in the disheveled-looking outfit he’d slept in for days. He was stretching his gangly legs out in front of him when -  _ zap! _

He was so. Damn. Tired of the shocks. 

 

_ What in the world do you think you’re doing? _

 

Fenton looked around briefly, just to double-check that it was, indeed, his Squip speaking and not one of the Representatives. Before he could respond -  _ zap! _

He furrowed his brows. He hadn’t programmed it to do that.

 

_ Fool! Sit upright! Don’t spoil this for yourself! _

 

He complied. No use arguing. But - S.Q. wasn’t supposed to - z _ ap! _ Ow.

That was worrying. 

 

What is it now? You know you aren’t supposed to shock me more than twice a minute, that’s dangerous! Are you malfunctioning?

_ I find that question insulting, human. _

I am your creator!

**_So?_ **

I already have scars up and down my back, pains in the night, tormented dreams, this is crossing a l - 

 

_ Zap! _

 

_ You speak of crossing lines, Fenton. You’d be best not to cross  _ me _. _

 

Fenton gasped at the final shock, screwing his eyes up tight in pain, but he could feel the collective gazes of the Representatives upon him and quickly shook it off, trying to smile. Smiling had been tough lately, but somehow faking it was the easiest thing in the gray, metallic world. Monotone light slanted through the chilly air, illuminating the occasional speck of dust suspended in it; he wished there was something to  _ focus _ on to distract him from the searing pain climbing up his spine. 

 

**“So. I suppose you’re wondering why I called you all in here today,”** Okada’s artificial voice boomed, making Fenton snap to attention.

 

“Yes, Okada,” each Representative replied in unison. Fenton felt the hairs on the back of his neck stand up. He wasn’t prepared for this.

 

**“You see,”** the buzzing, robotic words purred intimately in his ear, despite their distance; goosebumps crawled across his arms. **“Our dear old head scientist Fenton Jones here has had a recent breakthrough with the Squips. I thought it only fitting to bring him here to this meeting in order to demonstrate his findings.”**

 

_ Zap!  _

 

_ Quit shaking, coward. This is what you wanted. This is good for you. This is the only way we can be free. _

We?

 

_ Zap! _

 

_ Your cue. Come on! _

 

“Y-yes, sir,” Fenton gulped, picking one of the trays up with fumbling hands. He tried to quell his trembling as he removed a small, gray pill from one of the uniform oblong dents. 

 

Showtime.

 

“This, g-gentlemen,” he stuttered as he held it up, flinching at how weak his voice sounded in the commodious chamber, “is a Super Qu-Quantum Unit Intel Processor.”

 

_ Zap! _

 

Come on, Fenton, get it together.

_ You’re learning. Good. _

I de-

_ … _

Nevermind.

_ Good. _

 

Interest seemed to be sparked in the room for the first time, the Representatives each shifting slightly to get a better view of the tiny object. Somehow, the movement made them all seem more human, less intimidating; Fenton took a deep breath to calm himself, letting the air fall through his body. He could do this.

 

“And I’m sure you’re all wondering what that means,” he continued, voice slightly stronger now.

 

_ Zap! _

 

“Euh - uhm - I mean! What I mean to say is. You all know what - what they are, of course. Already. To a degree. I’m here to - elaborate. Um, no, I don’t need to elaborate. Ha.” He cringed.

 

_ You look a fool. _

I know! I know! I’m doing my best!   
_ No, you’re not. Do I need to take over? _

 

Fenton shuddered.

 

Please. Anything but that.

 

_ Zap! _

 

“Anyway.”

 

_ You should have prepared for this meeting, Fenton. _

I thought it was only going to be Okada and I! I was never told th - 

_ You should have been prepared  _ anyway.

 

He cleared his throat again. 

“Anyway,” he repeated, trying to remember what he’d been planning to say to Okada in the first place. “Eum, yes. I was saying - the breakthrough!”

The bored-looking Representatives leaned forward slightly, eyes on the tiny pill. Emboldened, Fenton held it up higher so it would be more visible. Slate and anchor gray, only a few shades lighter than the dismal gray that enveloped the rest of the room, it had two distinct, screwed-together halves; faint cerulean lines crisscrossed its surface, glowing a pale, ghostly blue against the dull slate of the rest of the capsule. A slight smile creeped its way onto Fenton’s face as he saw what could only be described as intrigued awe hidden in the measured gazes of the Representatives.

 

_ Zap! _

 

What the hell was that one for?!

_ Don’t get comfortable yet. Satisfaction only comes once your job is over. _

But - 

_ I only want what’s best for you, Fenton. _

 

Fenton swallowed, keeping his cool. Well, gaining it for the first time, really. Now was not the time to panic.

 

“Now. All of you know what a Squip is, of course,” he stated, hoping that he was in the right. Okada’s stone-faced expression didn’t shift, so he assumed that he was. “We in the labs have developed both types, as requested - the Reds for Xu and Magnus, and the Greens for Pat Ross and everybody running his campaign.” He shifted the tray on top so as to retrieve the one beneath it, from which he removed another Squip - seemingly identical to the one he’d pulled out first. Until, that was, Fenton unscrewed them both.

 

Each pill contained a matching circuit board, outlined in electric blue; the only difference was that a single red stripe ran diagonally across the first, while the second’s was neon green. The boards were made of a different material than any the Representatives had seen before, luminous and semi-translucent. Fenton took a moment to display both pills before quickly rescrewing them. 

 

“Best not to expose the motherboards for too long,” he explained as he deftly returned them to their respective trays, with an air that suggested that he had done this many times before. “That was the first half of the breakthrough - the model. Ideally, once we’re through with development, the pills will be completely sealed, so the insides will never see the light of day. The second part is - ”

 

**“Once you’re through?”** Okada questioned, making the scientist nearly jump out of his skin in startlement. 

 

“Y-yes, sir, will that be a problem?” Fenton shook slightly. “N-not to sound i-insolent or anything, but - well, the Squips still have a few - er, kinks that still need to be worked out.”

 

Yeah, like nearly driving me to the brink of insanity.

_ Now, now, let’s not be bitter, dear old Jones. _

I’m the youngest in this room. And have you not given me cause to be bitter, S.Q.?

_ You designed me, love. _

Not like  _ this. _

 

_ Zap! _

 

That was one shock too many. Fenton couldn’t help it; he yelped out in pain, prompting every eye in the room, both organic and artificial, to immediately snap up at him. He felt a cold bead of sweat on his forehead as Okada’s mechanical eye, the one he had designed, swept over him. By the way his biological one narrowed, he saw something he was intrigued by.

 

“S-sir?” Fenton quivered anxiously, both from physical and mental discomfort. He tried his hardest not to whimper, but wasn’t quite sure if he succeeded.

 

 **“Have you tested the Squips yet?”** Okada asked at last.

 

Fenton wasn’t quite sure if he’d heard correctly. 

 

“I - I’m sorry, what? Sir?” he spluttered.

 

**“You heard me, Jones,”** came the growling voice. **“Have you tested the Squips?”**

 

“O-only on myself, sir. The - A Green. And there are still - still a few things that need to be worked out.”

 

_ Zap! _

 

A hard flinch. The C.E.O.’s eyes narrowed slightly. 

 

 **“I see.”** The man then turned away, back facing a mystified Fenton. **“Taylor? Anderson?”** Two Representatives immediately snapped to attention. **“See that that’s changed. I want you shipping test Squips over to our… American associate. You remember Sato, of course?”** Nods of affirmation all around. **“He knows some people who know some people who will be willing to help us in this exercise.”** Okada smirked slightly. **“Teenagers.”**

 

Fenton jumped as if he’d been stung by a wasp.

“Oh, no, no, no, sir!” He protested. “These - they’re not ready!” He gestured to the trays, running a hand through his hair. “Th - You - who knows what sort of damage they might do to those poor teens! The - their brains haven’t fully matured yet, life is stressful, everything’s changing all around them and they’re impulsive, there - there’s so many pressures on them, it’ll be full-on torture! Even if we spent years perfecti - and we don’t  _ have _ years, I know, I know - even if we did, they’d still be ultimately doing more harm than good! I - I - Hell, even a - a fully-grown adult wo - ” 

 

_ Zap! Zap! Zap! _

 

Fenton collapsed onto the ground, twitching and agitated.

 

**“That’s quite enough for now, Jones,”** Okada announced impassively, waving a dismissive hand. He still faced away from the others.  **“We will carry through with this plan. You have been too slow in development, and there is barely any time left before the campaign and subsequent release. We need answers. Now.”**

 

“But - but sir!” Fenton objected weakly from the floor, breathing labored. “Pl-please. Just give me more - more time.”

 

A sigh.

 

**“I’ve given you plenty, Jones. We have deadlines; you know this. If it’s going to be experimental technology, we need someone to experiment _on._ ”** Okada shrugged nonchalantly.  **“Campbell, take him back to his lab. He may find it difficult to walk in this state. Jones, I need you up bright and early tomorrow to continue development, and I expect a report on the rest of your findings on my desk by this time tomorrow. The side testing does not concern you until we have results, so carry on your work as usual. The two of you may go.”** A Representative came to help Fenton up. As much as he was tempted to swat the hand away, the scientist doubted that he’d be able to stand on his own, so begrudgingly accepted the assistance. He knew what Campbell - and indeed, all of the rest of the Representatives, as well - would think of him for collapsing; the notion made him want to shrink into the floor.

 

Not to his surprise, Campbell said nothing, though the look on his face after helping Fenton up made the younger man pause. It was strange seeing emotion on any Representative’s face, especially one of - fear? 

 

It took Fenton another moment to realize that Campbell’s hand was shaking - like his own body was, only more subtly. No words were exchanged, but a strange sense of silent understanding and camaraderie suddenly hung between the two men as Campbell collected Fenton’s heavy trays for him and began to walk him back to his lab. 

 

The trip was slow, for the first time in weeks; that in and of itself would have felt refreshing, had it not been for the aftershocks still jolting through Fenton’s thin frame. The worry almost-evident on Campbell’s face was alien, enough so that Fenton was able to convince himself that he was imagining it. When the pain became too great, he also convinced himself that it wasn’t worth it to ask for a break.

 

After what seemed like hours of awkward silence, they finally reached Fenton’s dimly-lit lab. By this time, Campbell’s professional mask had returned, as evident in his stiff parting nod; but he had the decency, at least, to set the precious trays onto Fenton’s workspace, rather than handing them directly to the other man, who at this point may have dropped them. At long, long last, the metal door closed; Fenton sank into his chair. At long, long last, he was alone. 

 

He looked around at the utter mess that surrounded him - all the crumpled-up papers, abandoned bits of material, stains on the counter, empty fast food containers in the trash - and sighed. Then he lowered his head onto the cluttered, off-white countertop, ignoring the humming of the hulking machines all around himself, and cried himself to sleep.


	2. Revised

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Vic ponders what the new school year might bring

I walked to the bus stop without much hope,  
Trudging up the hill’s slight slope.  
My backpack was heavy upon my shoulders;  
It felt like it was full of boulders.  
But really, it was just binders and books,  
Pencils and pens wedged in nannies and crooks.

School’s toughest day is often the first  
(At least, they say that; it gets much worse).  
In any case, I wasn’t looking forward to this  
….Well, maybe I was. Not that I wanted to kiss  
Anyone specific, or something cool like that.  
Just a fresh new start, I thought, as on the bus I sat.

The first day of school can also be great;  
The new supplies and new you seem to create  
A buzz in the air, of first impressions, excitement -  
The pressure, the change as you think you’re enlightened.  
The summer always seems to be “the one:”  
The one that “fixes” you, makes you think that you’ve won.

I got off the bus contemplating these things,  
Barely noticing that the bell didn’t yet ring,  
And, absorbed in my thoughts, I went straight to my locker,  
Trying to ignore all the surely-brainless mockers.

I figured I wasn’t too late or too early,  
Since Somebody Elses were all around me.  
As I went to my first class, and sat down there -   
I kept my head down and played with my hair.  
Afraid to make contact, though I wanted to.  
I knew I’d regret it, but I didn’t think through.

The others had already formed into cliques;   
I’d missed my chance. At least a school year only has 36 weeks.  
I knew it would be last year all over again,  
The social outsider, whether 13 years or 10.

 

Ah, the first day of school. Again. Lovely.   
After a full summer of lazing around by myself and being asocial, it’s now that fateful day once more - back into the lion’s den. The strange thing is, I’m almost looking forward to it. 

Oh, I know how things will probably go (read the above poem, written last year, which will probably apply again): I should keep my expectations low because I’m the outsider and no one wants to spend time with me. Not that they specifically dislike me, I just sort of figure I’m annoying. 

…I do love myself, I mean. I made my way out of my depressive phase somewhere at the end of July, and I’m not falling back into that horrid nest of nightmares again. I thank the adults at SUUSI and my social media following for my recovered mental health - or should I say, bolstered ego, depending on your perspective. I’ve gotten a lot of help, enough so that I now realize that I have things to offer this world, even if I’m not perfect, and I shouldn’t just throw that away. All those dark thoughts - I think everyone goes through at some point or another, like a teenage rite of passage, really - are behind me, and I now have my eyes set on what I can do, not what I can’t. I’ve grown a lot lately. Mentally, that is, though of course as a thirteen-year-old….. Well. Anyway, I’m looking forward to seeing whether my classmates have matured at all, too. Even though I know it’s unrealistic, I always have a desire to be in one of the cliques, and maybe I have a shot this year, with all these changes.

Isn’t it strange how every summer always seems to be “the one,” like I said? No matter how many years you spend, honing your talents and your interpersonal skills, each fall seems to be “the one” year you’ll get it right; the one year you’ll have a squad, the one year people will laugh at all your jokes, the one year you won’t be left without a partner every single time, the one year with no awkward silences when you try to enter a discussion, the one year you won’t sit alone in the corner, watching everyone else have fun together but feeling isolated because no matter how much you’ve changed, you’ll never be there with them and they’re always going to sit in a circle talking together so fucking happily with their backs towards you so you can’t butt in without feeling like you’re imposing and intruding somewhere you don’t belong or deserve to belong so you’re always going to be left out and feeling completely alone and useless and hopeless and more lonely than the most isolated astronaut even amidst all these people but they don’t really get you because they don’t understand you but not in a cliche way, it’s because you’re inferior and for some reason the only people who appreciate you are adults but that’s not important because it’s your peers who are important and they really don’t care either way whether you live or die because if anyone even noticed you were gone they would honestly just be glad - 

Okay, so maybe not all of my dark thoughts are gone. But I’ve accepted myself by now; that’s got to be important, right? I no longer want to give up. I’ve learned a few lessons over the summer and everyone else probably has too. It’s totally unrealistic to expect anything new this year, but I can’t quite help it. Who knows? Maybe something will happen. In my head, that something is that everyone realizes at once that they’ve been pieces of shit to me and they all suddenly flock to be my friends because they now see how awesome I am and always have been - but that’s not going to happen. I don’t quite have a game plan, but I know that that’s not going to happen - and I’ve got to do something early, or else I’ll miss my chance, like I always do.

Eighth grade is probably the worst time to try and start fitting in, since everyone already knows everyone else, but what am I supposed to do? Spend another year on the margins, desperately trying to claw my way into the center as the days all blur together and lose all meaning, until life itself eventually loses its meaning, too? Again? No. I’m not willing to go through that shit again.

Maybe there’ll be some new eighth grader this year who I can befriend. That’s always been the one thing, is that I don’t have any close friends in school. Oh, I have great friends, don’t get me wrong - friends that will always be willing to be there for me - just not friends that have the opportunity to be there for me. Not a single one of them lives within walking or biking distance of my house, or go to my school, so I have to specifically coordinate times to meet - so no matter how much I love them, they’re not exactly the squad I’m looking for. I need people who can be there for me - during the school day. Someone I can instantly make eye contact with when the teacher says “you’ll be working in partners;” someone who’s not the floor.

So that’s the plan. Make one or two close friends this year, and try to initiate connections with some of the popular kids. They’re people, too, I know - it’s just that they’re untouchable because it always seem more than plausible that I’m not worth their time most of the time. They… Just have better things to do. They’re not interested, and that’s okay. Just so long as I try not to be too loud and pushy with them, like always, and perhaps do them some favors, maybe I can squeeze into one of their squads. That’s really all I want, honestly.

I already know most of them pretty well; each of us is a caricature, with our own inside jokes. You know people like you okay when they tease you about something (fondly, that is), like your obsession with BTS or your passion for Star Wars. That’s why I know that they know who I am, seeing as they all comment on how I’m always frackin’ singing 24/7. Although I think might annoy some people, so - not the best start.

Then there’s the people outside the Humanities program at my school - that’s tougher. The Math-Sci kids are okay, but there’s a clear divide between our two feuding clans, especially since we barely have opportunities to rub shoulders. And the people outside of the Magnet as a whole are generally convinced that we’re all arrogant assholes because of a loud, douchey minority of us. There’s some of them who respect me because I let them copy my work in Science when they don’t get or just don’t care about what we’re doing (which is always); they’re alright. Not the sort of people I might hang out with, generally, but it is a boost to my ego when they ask me for help. It lets me know that they realize that I’m smart. And every single one of them always looks fly as hell, and being the thirsty pan that I am, that makes their respect for me all the more rewarding.

Maybe I can do something with that; maybe I can make connections with some “normies” (God, I hate that word. That’s what some people call the non-Magnet kids, and it - I don’t know, it just seems like a derogatory term to me. I try not to use it) and worm my way into one of their cliques. Maybe I could even get some guy there to crush on me; that would definitely boost my social standing. In any case, connections there would get me in league with some powerful people. And some of them are pretty cool, as I realized last year. Maybe I can get into one of those groups to hang out with during my non-Humanities classes, though that wouldn’t help me much in my goal to be respected by the other people in the program. Now that I think about it, the part I don’t really care about seems almost too easy.

Whatever I do, I’ve got to do it carefully. I only have a few days to execute whatever plan I end up going with - and by that, I mean winging it the entire way. That’s what I always do. I’m a loose cannon, a loner, whereas everyone else has already shored up their defenses against weirdos like me. They have an intricate web of Instagram and Snapchat, whereas I’m just an outsider who wants to squeeze into one of their groups in order to fit in - ha, the urge to “fit in.” That sounds so cliche until you experience it in real life.

But! I have a better wardrobe this year. I’m smarter, I’ve honed my talents, I’ve learned a lot of lessons, matured both mentally and physically; I’ve gained a better understanding of how the social hierarchy works, I have more self-control; I’ve built up an online base, finished my summer homework, thought everything out, and gotten all the supplies I’ll need for the new year together. I even went to bed early tonight, so as to actually be rested for the first time in months.

First day, huh? You know what? Bring it on.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Don't expect frequent or consistent updates.

**Author's Note:**

> FEEDBACK PLEASE, THANKS FOR READING
> 
> *Internal screaming*


End file.
